


Sparrow

by Half_MoonProductions



Category: Bleach, Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Arrancar Jack Sparrow, Gen, Soul Reaper Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_MoonProductions/pseuds/Half_MoonProductions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day has come. After a long life of pirating, Jack Sparrow is finally captured, at the cost of his crew and ship. With no Will or Elizabeth to save him this time around, he finds himself awaiting death at the gallows, full of regrets. Anchored to the town of Port Royale, he becomes a plus, watching as the era of pirates slowly comes to a close. Eventually, his chain of fate fully corrodes and he becomes a hollow, doomed to wander the plains of Hueco Mundo alone for all eternity. That is, until a strange man by the name of Sosuke Aizen approaches him, offering him a spot as one of his Arrancar. The world of Bleach will never be the same. </p><p>A/N: Just another strange idea I had pop into my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparrow

He should have found the it funny. In fact, he would have found it quite humorous had he not been the one in this situation. Captain Jack Sparrow frequently pondered when his life would come to an end. It was a kind of morbid question, yet he often found himself searching for an answer after any one of his particularly dangerous escapades.  When you've done as many things as he's done, been in as many life threatening situations as he has, you start to wonder just what it is that'll do you in. Especially in his field of expertise, where the number of ways to die was almost too many to count. Yes, he often wondered how when he would eventually kick the bucket, although he hadn't expected it to be now, and certainly not like this.  
  
A Captain always goes down with his ship.  
  
A short bark of laughter escaped his throat at the irony of it all, startling one of the nearby soldiers.  
  
Yeah, not this time.  
  
The Pearl was gone, sunken to the depths of Davy Jones' locker along with the rest of his crew. Gibbs, Anamaria, they were all gone. He should have gone with them. He shouldn't have been the one to live. It was his job as he captain to die with the ship. Although he probably wasn't the only one to live. That cursed monkey Barbosa'd named after him was probably still floating somewhere amongst the wreckage, clinging on for dear life to a peace of driftwood.   
  
They had taken him prisoner, shipped him off to Port Royal and locking him up in the familiar, dank confines of Fort Charles. It was nice that they had reserved his old cell. Made him feel all tingly inside. It reminded him of all those years ago, the last time he had found himself in situation similar to this one. Except this time there would be no Will or Elizabeth to save him, no Pearl to help him escape this time.  
  
Of course he acknowledged the possibility of it happening. There was always the lingering thought in the back of his head that told him he would eventually get caught. Even he, the illusive Captain Jack Sparrow, couldn't run forever. Still he would have rather gone down fighting than meet his end by the gallows.  
  
"Sure took their sweet time with it, though." He muttered gruffly, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the situation.  
  
"What was 'at?" one of the soldiers demanded, eying him suspiciously.   
  
"Hm?" he hummed, realizing he had been talking out loud again. "Oh nothing much. Just thinking is all. Its a shame really; couldn't find anything more appropriate to wear fer my date with the gallows. If I had known I were to be dying today I would'a worn somethin' a little more-" he gestured wildly to the tattered rags he currently wore, his shackles restricting his movement to short jerks and spasms. "becoming, of a captain such as myself. Perhaps if you two fine gentleman would allow a poor, aging old man to go and change-"  
  
"Forget it." the skinnier of the two cut him off. "Nice try, but your tricks won't work on us this time, pirate."  
  
Damn, he knew his persuasive skills were getting a bit dull.

Jack flashed a mouth full of gold. "Can't blame a man for trying, eh?"  
  
He marched in line with the two soldiers on either side of him, surrounded by a virtual hoard of Navy men, hands bound in heavy iron shackles. They weren't taking any chances with his escape. Of course it was all rather pointless really, whether they had assigned him five of their incompetent men or fifty, he could have escaped. It's just that now there was no reason. Sure, he could escape; then what? Keep his head low, ducking from one place to the next hoping he didn't get caught? Where was the fun in that? Where was the freedom? He would rather die free than live in hiding.  
  
He eyed the two men on either side of him. He recognized them. If his memory served correctly he was currently being escorted by the two idiotic soldiers he had fooled by the docks all those years ago. What were their names again? The thought of just asking them had come to mind a couple of times, but he brushed the thought away almost immediately. Something told him they weren't in a very talkative mood, and he knew why.  
  
Ever since that new upstart (he hadn't bothered to remember his name either) had taken over the late Governor Swan's position he had ordered a search and kill warrant for any pirate that still roamed the seas. Every soldier and navy man was on high alert. At any time they could be shipped off to some unknown part of the world to risk their lives on a wild goose chase to hunt down the remaining seven Pirate Lords.   
  
Their forces were dwindling. The Navy had already gotten Ching and Ammand; the rest were in hiding, gathering their forces in case the Navy decided to come knocking at their door. Hector was probably somewhere in the Caspian Sea right about now. With the Queen Anne's Revenge as his, the Navy would probably think twice about attacking him, so he was safe for now. Still, things were worse than when Becket was in power and they sure as hell weren't getting any better; at this rate their chances of survival were slim to none. It was no longer a question of how it would happen, but when. The age of piracy, of freedom, was coming to a close.  
  
The walk from his holding cell had been quiet, peaceful even, The smell of ocean spray was doing wonders on his nerves, with the crash of ocean waves the only thing to interrupt the monotonous silence. It was about the time they entered the more populated areas of the island that things started to get loud. Shouting, cursing, some townspeople were even chucking food at him. He opened his mouth just in time to snatch a pastry someone had thrown clean out of the air, biting down on the flakey treat and allowing the excess bits to crumble to the ground.   
  
The soldiers were doing everything in their power to avoid the bits of food and rubbish being thrown their way, the more experienced of the lot barely even batting an eye. He waved as if he were royalty, offering a brilliant smile in return for all of the garbage and insults being hurled his way. They didn't bother him one bit. To him it all came with the job.   
  
Slowing slightly, he noticed his reflection in a nearby shop window. The hints of grey beginning leak into his hair and beard, thin smile lines, sun kissed skin. The years had been kind to him in his opinion. His back was straight, a confident smile etched onto his features. Hardly the look of a man about to face certain death. But he had danced with death on multiple occasions, hell he had actually died once. Why let it faze him now?   
  
Despite being well into his sixties he hardly looked a man past his early forties, and his mind was still sharp as ever. He could notice every subtle twitch the soldiers made as insults were cast his way, the storm clouds approaching from a distance, the stack of boxes barely concealed within a nearby alleyway. In fact, if he could find someway and make it out of this little protective circle, he could probably use the boxes to get to the rooftops. Yeah, that would work. The townspeople were distracting enough. If he could slip away he could lose them on the rooftops and make his way to the harbor. He could 'borrow' a ship and then he'd be home free. He'd done it before, he could do it again. Then he would make his way to Tortuga, meet up with Gibbs and then-  
  
Oh.   
  
Right.  
  
Bugger.  
  
He let his shoulders sag a little bit, suddenly feeling his age catching up to him. There would be no rescue mission this time, no Gibbs to save his arse now that he was captured. Somehow he kept forgetting. It seemed so surreal. For so many years he had been untouchable, the infamous Pirate Lord of the Caribbean; top of the food chain as it were, only to suddenly have the carpet swept from under him. He straightened back up almost immediately. Best to die with some dignity. If Gibbs saw him acting like a mopey wretch over something as simple as a hanging he'd never let him hear the end of it. He could practically hear the man laughing in his grave; the cheeky bastard.  
  
  
The density of people steadily increased as they got closer and closer to the town square. There was no turning back now. He had missed his chance, not that it mattered. The soldiers ahead of him pushed their way through the crowd, keeping them at bay as he made his way to the wooden platform. When he made his way to the top of the steps hhis eyes panned over the sea of screaming townspeople, every one of them calling out for his blood.   
  
A man in a pompous white wig stepped forward, the crowd silencing themselves as he unfurled a sheet of parchment.   
  
"Jack Sparrow-"  
  
"Captain." he cut in. Honestly, you'd think they'd know the deal by now.  
  
The man let out a sigh. "Captain Jack Sparrow, you have hereby been charged with heinous crimes against the British government, consisting of, but not limited to, piracy, petty theft, impersonating a cleric in the Church of England-"  
  
Ah, now that was a good one. Surprisingly enough, nuns where a little more liberal than most were led to believe.   
  
The man kept going, reading off crime after crime that Jack had committed, some managing to bring a brief smile to his face. It was sometime after the man had reached the seventy-fifth crime that Jack had decided enough was enough.  
  
"Oi mate, I think the people get it. I'm a bad guy, I've done a lotta' bad things, get on with it. I'm sure they 'ave better things to do with their spare time."  
  
The man seemed a little flustered by Jacks outburst. To him, it seemed as though he was in a rush to die. He gave a cautious glance to a man standing off to the side, dressed in the fancy garb of a high-ranking government official.  
  
Ahh, so that was the new governor. Come to see the fruits of his labor, eh?  
  
He sent Jack a suspicious glare, probably trying to decide whether this was part of some type of plan, before sending a grudging nod the man's way.  
  
The man holding the parchment hesitated for a split second before clearing his throat. "Yes, well, very well then. For these crimes, you, Jack Sparrow-"  
  
"Captain."  
  
The man sent a withering glare Jack's way. "Captain Jack Sparrow, infamous 'Pirate Lord of the Caribbean', have been sentence to death by hanging. Do you have any final words you would like to say?"  
  
Jack didn't hesitate, flashing another one of his trademark smiles before the noose was lowered over his head. He didn't shout, in fact his voice barely even raised above a soft monotone as the rope was tightened around his neck, yet the people in attendance would later look back and swear that the very ground they stood on was shaking with every syllable he uttered.  
  
"Let this be known as the day you lot finally caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"  
  
And with that he heard the sound of the lever being pulled as the floor fell from underneath him.  
  


* * *

  
  
Death was nothing like Jack thought it would be. For one thing, he had expected for the Turner boy to show up and ferry him across a sea of souls to the afterlife. Not only had the whelp not been there to greet him, but now he was wandering the streets of Port Royal seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the world. Well that part wasn't really surprising seeing as he was now dead.  
  
Oh yeah, and for some reason he had foot long metal chain protruding from his chest.  
  
He took in his appearance in a nearby shop window (could dead people even have reflections?), turning his he from left to right. He was younger. Well, at least, he looked younger. His grey hair was gone, along with the wrinkles. In fact, he looked exactly like he had all those years ago when he had first pulled up to Port Royal, dinghy almost fully submerged in sea water.   
  
He fiddled with the chain, rolling it between his fingers before giving it a light tug.  
  
Big mistake.  
  
He nearly doubled over as his body was wracked with pain, releasing it immediately and letting it drop back down and hang limply from the center of his chest. Needless to say he had made it a point to avoid touching it again at all costs.  
  
Not wanting a repeat of the last set of events, he decided to observe rather than touch. Besides the fact that it was coming out of his body, it looked just like your everyday garden variety chain you would see connecting a pair of prisoners shackles. Same bland, dark grey color, same smooth texture, same miniature mouths gnawing away at the end...  
  
Wait, what?  
  
He nearly jumped in surprise as he noticed there were indeed tiny little mouths attached to the chain, eating away at  themselves. If they kept going at this rate, there was no telling how long the chain would last.  
  
Which brought forth a surprisingly scary question: Then what?  
  
He felt his heart drop into his stomach at that thought. Something told that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. With a sigh he attempted to calm his nerves, sitting down on a nearby crate. No point in fussing over it, he supposed. There was nothing he could really do about it, and it certainly didn't seem as if the cannibalistic chain would be stopping anytime soon. The most he could do was wait and hope that the whelp showed up to save him before anything bad happened.  
  


* * *

 

 

Jack Sparrow stared at the calendar that hung from a shops window. Three months. That's how long it had been since he had died and found this infernal chain sticking out of his body. The once foot long series of interlocking links could barely even constitute as a chain anymore, and the feeling in his chest had gone from a dull ache to a painful throb.   
  
After the first few weeks it had become blatantly obvious to him that the whelp wouldn't be showing his face anytime soon; so, trying to make the most of a bad situation, he had tried on multiple occasions to leave the island; you know, go exploring, see the sights, enjoy his last moments somewhere nice before he was possibly wiped from existence. Key word being tried. Sadly it would seem that fate had other plans for him.  
  
Any time he tried to go past the docks to stow away on a ship, it was if there were an invisible wall stopping him. In fact, the whole island seems to be surrounded by some kind of invisible force field. If he tried to swim out to sea he could only make it to about waist high before he bumped into another invisible wall. This happened anytime he tried to leave the island, no matter where he went. Eventually he just gave up. Trying, and failing, to leave the island, in his opinion, wasn't worth his time, especially since every time he touched the force field the pain in his chest seemed to increase two fold and his chain only seemed to erode faster.  
  
So, almost a month in he had found himself with nothing to do but sit around and wait. He spent the majority of his time from then on thinking over his life; y'know his past mistakes and whatnot. It came as a great surprise to him that he had many more regrets than he originally realized. Along with those were  a couple of questions he found himself wanting the answers to.   
  
Like, why was he still here? Last time he had died, he had gone straight to Davy Jones' Locker. Maybe it had something to do with getting eaten by the Kraken?   
  
And what about Gibbs and the rest of his crew? Where they in the same proverbial boat as him? Where they out there somewhere, wandering the sea by themselves? These thoughts only seemed to quicken the pace at which the chain was eroding away, guilt laying heavy in his gut. And Jack Sparrow hated guilt.  
  
Finally, he found himself in the present. It was almost done. The feeling was back, like a warning siren in the back of his head. Once that was infernal chain was gone, something would happen, and he still hadn't figured out what. Would he finally pass on? Would he cease to exists?   
  
There was only one way to find out.   
  
So, in his last few precious moments, he watched as the remnants of the chain seemed to scatter into midair.   
  
Then all he knew was pain. Pain, and darkness. He let out a deafening roar.  
  
  


 


End file.
